


Take Your Time

by smallhorizons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom!Cas, M/M, PWP, Pet Names, Rimming, a little bit of bottom!dean too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallhorizons/pseuds/smallhorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for bottom!cas Wednesday on Tumblr. </p><p>Basically: Dean takes his time opening up Cas with his tongue and fingers before he finally slips inside and gives Cas what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Your Time

Cas groans as Dean kneads his ass, cupping his cheeks and rubbing circles into the sensitive skin with his thumbs. He’s still a little sore from last night; Dean had teased him with his fingers for what felt like  _hours_ before finally slipping into him, his pace slowing every time Cas felt himself nearing the precipice of his orgasm, until Cas was almost incoherent with his need to come, and finally,  _finally_ Dean slammed home and ground right against his prostate, and Cas was gone, the world whiting out around him as he came so hard it hurt. But Dean is taking his time, his hands gentle, mindful of how tender Cas is feeling, and Cas whimpers a little into the mattress when Dean’s thumb ghosts over his opening, applying just the slightest bit of pressure before it’s gone again.

Dean leans down and presses a kiss to the swell of Cas’ ass, nipping lightly at the skin. “You okay?” he asks, and he kisses Cas’ tailbone, then the dip of his lower back.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas says, and he props himself up on his elbows so that he can look over his shoulder at Dean. “I’d be better if you’d actually hurry up a little.” The friction of his cock trapped between his belly and the sheets is nice, yes, but Cas wants Dean’s fingers, his mouth, anything, because there’s nothing better than being filled, nothing better than the slight burn and then overwhelming pleasure as Dean pushes inside.

Dean grins and leans forward to kiss Cas, sloppy, closing his mouth over Cas’ bottom lip and suckling gently. “I like taking my time,” he says. His hands squeeze Cas’ ass, fingers digging into the skin and massaging little circles there.

Cas sighs and flops back down onto the bed. “Fine,” he grumbles. “But I’m taking this out on you next time, you realize.”

“Fine with me,” Dean says, and then he’s trailing kisses down Cas’ back again, all the way down to the furrow of his ass. He nips and suckles there for a little while, Cas’ nerves tingling with the sensation, fingers flexing, and he rolls his hips back in what he hopes is an obvious invitation for Dean to go lower.

Dean withdraws for just a second before he dips his thumbs into the furrow of Cas’ cheeks, spreading them. Cas bites his lip as he’s exposed to the cool air, exposed to Dean’s warm exhalations against his entrance. He grips hard at the blankets, waiting— _waiting_ —and then Dean finally descends, licking a broad strip from Cas’ perineum to up over his hole, tongue pressing against the furled muscle with warm, wet heat.

Cas moans, a soft, breathy thing, and spreads his legs a little, allowing Dean to prop himself up on his elbows between the V of his legs. Dean’s still holding him open, the wet skin of his entrance twitching a little against the air, and Cas can feel the muscles in his thighs and back tensing, because he knows how Dean does this, so different than from how Cas does it to him (little kitten licks, flicking his tongue against the furl of his muscle, maybe worming a finger inside him when he’s wet enough, because Dean still isn’t entirely comfortable with penetration, but he  _loves_ it when Cas eats him out, messy and hungry and slick with the heat of his tongue).

Sure enough, Dean dips down again and all but shoves his tongue up against Cas’ entrance, drawing a groan from him as nerves spark all along his spine. His tongue presses against the ring of muscle, flicking over it again and again, digging a little deeper every time, and then Dean pushes forward until his face is practically buried in his ass, his tongue slipping past the tight ring of muscle and into Cas. Cas whimpers and can’t help the reflexive jerk of his hips, practically shoving himself back onto Dean’s mouth.

Dean withdraws again, just for a moment—his hands spread Castiel wider, and Cas rocks his hips against the mattress, because, fuck, the slight pull at his entrance when he does that—and then Dean descends again, drawing his tongue over his entrance over and over again, working the muscle inside, his spit running down the cheeks of Cas’ ass and down the inside of his thighs. Cas is whimpering, deep in his throat, a constant near-silent noise that’s punctuated with a sharp gasp whenever Dean gets his tongue in particularly deep.

Cas can feel Dean shifting behind him, can hear the faint squeaking of the bed as he does so, and he has a suppress a groan when he realizes it’s because Dean is rolling his hips against the mattress. He loves that Dean loves this, loves that Dean gets hard just from slicking Cas up with his tongue, and his cock throbs against his belly and spits out a burst of pre-cum.

Then, without warning, Dean’s pressing a finger against him along with his tongue, coating the appendage with saliva at the same time that he's practically drooling all over his entrance. Cas rolls his hips in invitation, and then the tip of the finger slides into him, stretching him so good, and Cas moans against the pillow when Dean keeps pressing it steadily forward, until Dean’s knuckle-deep inside him.

Dean pulls back, panting a little, and he says, “You feel amazing, Cas—fuck—”

Cas wriggles his hips, trying to get Dean deeper, and Dean leans forward to kiss the back of his neck, his shoulder. He’s moving the finger inside Cas, a slow slide in and out, his finger crooked a little to pull at his rim. “Dean,” Cas moans. “Please.”

“You good for more?” Dean asks. The bed shifts as Dean leans over to the side to root through his bag for the tube of KY lube they’ve been using so much of lately. “You’re not too sore?”

“If I were, I’d  _tell_ you,” Cas says. He cants his hips back, raising up on his knees just a few inches to get better leverage.

Dean’s finger withdraws, leaving Cas empty, and Cas groans in protest. Dean kisses his spine quickly, and there’s the snick of the cap as Dean gets the lube open. When his finger returns, it’s slick, cool, and Cas practically shoves his hips back on it. The finger slides all the way to Dean’s knuckles without issue. Dean’s thumb, also slick, rubs at Cas’ entrance as his finger pumps in and out, spreading the lube. “You good for another?” Dean asks after a little while. His clean hand has come to grip at Cas’ hip, holding him steady as his hand moves back and forth.

Cas is already shaking a little, thighs quivering. “Yes,” he says, and his gasp turns into a long, drawn-out groan as another finger prods at his entrance. There’s a moment of resistance, a slight burn, and then Dean’s got two fingers inside him, stroking at his inner walls. Dean always ignores his prostate at first; if he didn’t, by the time Cas was prepared he’d already have come.

Cas loses himself in the stretch and burn of Dean’s fingers scissoring him open, the slickness of the lube, the wet, messy feeling of spit and lube mixing together to run down his thighs. When Dean gets him open enough to accept a third finger, Cas whimpers, loud, and his hips jerk back. His cock is slick with his own pre-cum, the tip practically dripping with it. Cas presses his cheek against his pillow and closes his eyes and pants, his breath coming in strangled bursts.

“You ready?” Dean asks him, fingers stilling.

“Of course I’m ready,” Cas bites back. “Just—get inside me, Dean, please—”

Dean takes in a sharp breath. “Just a sec, Cas, just—just gotta—” and Cas can tell when he uses his other hand to slick himself up because Dean lets out a soft groan.

Dean slips out his fingers, and for a moment Cas’ entrance gapes open. He shifts, uncomfortable, feeling empty, but then Dean’s hands are on his hips—he must have wiped them off on the sheets because they’re dry, clean—and Dean’s cock is nudging between his cheeks.

The first press is always just on the border of painful; Dean is thick, his cock hanging fat and heavy between his legs, but Cas likes it this way, likes that the very beginning of their joining is marked by a slow burn that gives way to pleasure.

Dean’s hips pulse forward, spreading Cas wide—and Cas widens his legs, pushing back against the slow movement of Dean’s hips—and it feels amazing, to be opened up like this, to accept Dean into his body. It feels like every one of Cas’ nerves is on fire, and they’ve not even gotten to the good part yet.

When Cas can feel the coarse hair of Dean’s groin pressing against him, balls heavy against Cas’ ass, Cas lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Behind him, Dean does the same.

“Good?” Dean whispers after a few seconds, and Cas replies by clenching around him, making him moan, long and throaty. “Fuck,” he gasps, and then he slides out—and Cas loves that, the long, slow drag,  _fuck_ , and Cas can’t help but whimper—and then, without warning, he slams back in.

Dean’s hands wrap around Cas’ hips, pulling him up against him until Cas has managed to shuffle onto his hands and knees. Dean grinds up against him, cock so deep inside Cas that Cas isn’t even sure where he ends and Dean begins, and then leans forward and presses his chest to Cas’ back, arms wrapping tight around Cas’ middle to hold him tight to Dean.

Like this, they can really only rock together, Dean slipping out only a few inches before rolling back inside, the slick feeling of it delicious, but it’s enough, it’s amazing, and when Dean shifts, just a little, and drives his cock into Cas at this new angle, Cas keens, high and loud, because, oh, right there, right  _there_ , that’s it—

Dean clutches him tighter, pressing his face against the curve of Cas’ shoulder, and he starts to pump his hips in earnest, every thrust landing directly on Cas’ prostate, and Cas is overcome, he’s on fire, his skin is too small, all he can feel is Dean inside of him, throbbing, spreading him wide open, filling him up, and Cas wails again when Dean slams into his prostate particularly hard and then  _stays_ there, grinding up against the knot of nerves until Cas has to drop to his elbows, arms shaking too much to keep him up.

“Dean,” Cas pants, “Dean, please, oh, Dean,  _Dean_ —”

And Dean whimpers against his shoulder when Cas sets up a rhythm against him, grinding his hips back against Dean’s, clenching around his cock every time Dean starts to draw out.

Dean unwraps his arms from Cas’s stomach, places them on his hips, instead, using them as leverage to push himself upright again. And then he draws out almost all the way, just the head of his cock still inside Cas, and then he  _slams_ forward, and Cas cries out,  _oh, Dean, right there, Dean, Dean, please, oh_!

The slap of skin on skin and the slick sound of Dean’s cock pumping in and out of Cas is all he can hear, and he can feel his own heartbeat hammering against his throat, and, oh, Dean feels impossibly huge within him, and every time he draws back Cas’ body clenches up because no, he’s not ready to let Dean go yet, he _needs_ Dean inside of him.

Then Dean hauls Cas’ hips back against his, slamming into him then  _grinding_ , just circling his hips, before pulling back and doing it again, Cas can hear him panting, can hear the little whimpers and groans as he says, “Oh, fuck, Cas.  _Fuck_. Baby, you feel amazing—I— _fuck_ —you close? Are you close?”

“Yes,” Cas moans, “Yes, Dean—please, oh—fuck, Dean,  _fuck_ ,” because Dean has a hand between his shoulders and is pushing him down against the mattress, and the change in angle is glorious, oh, please,  _Dean, Dean—Dean, oh D-Dean, I can’t, I need—I need_  …

“I got you,” Dean gasps. “C’mon, Cas, sweetheart, there you go, you’re so close—c’mon baby, just let it go, god, you’re gorgeous, you’re amazing—” and he brushes against Cas’ prostrate one last time and Cas is wailing, hips stuttering, cum splattering across his stomach and chest and even the underside of his jaw as his cock pulses, and Dean gives a strangled moan and curls around Cas’s body again, arms circling his waist, his face pressed against the back of Cas’ neck, and he’s slamming into Cas, over and over, his movements erratic, jerky, and Cas cries out as he drives into his prostate again, and his cock spurts out another stream of cum, and then Dean’s hands are tightening around him, Dean’s whimpering against his ear, groaning, “Cas, oh, fuck, Cas—” and then he’s coming, hips pressed flush to Cas’, just grinding up against him as he spills into Cas.

Neither of them can move for a few minutes after that, except for Cas’ knees to collapse and for him to sprawl across the bed on his stomach, Dean falling with him. The feeling of Dean softening within him is always strange, as is the first trickle of cum spilling out of him. Dean’s weight is heavy but comforting against his back, his arms warm and protective curled around Cas’ waist.

Minutes later, Dean slips out of Cas and rolls onto his side, groaning, and Cas hisses as he’s left empty, the muscles of his hole twitching as it tries to clench around something that is no longer there. “Nng,” Dean says, and Cas has to laugh a little, pressing his face against the pillow.

He’s sticky, and he should clean himself off before the cum plastered to his stomach dries and gets him stuck to the sheets, so, with a groan, Cas heaves himself upright.

“Where’re  _you_  going?” Dean asks as Cas attempts to stand up, only to sit back down immediately because his legs are too wobbly.

“I was going to get a washcloth,” Cas says, looking over his shoulder at Dean. He smiles at the sight; Dean is pink-faced and grinning, eyes heavy-lidded, and that look always makes Cas want to kiss him, so he does.

“Mm,” Dean says against his lips. “You don’t need a washcloth.”

Cas pulls back a little and lifts an eyebrow at him. “I’m a mess,” he says.

Dean grins and sits upright, pushing at Cas’ shoulders until he’s on his back, Dean leaning over him. “No problem,” he says. “I’ll clean you up.” And, still grinning, he hoists Cas’ legs up over his shoulders and spreads his cheeks, and Cas groans and arches his back at the first press of tongue against his loosened entrance, and he can’t help but think that it’s going to be a very long day.


End file.
